Out For Blood’s paroxysm of baleful sludge-punk immediately had the fillings in my teeth spiralling out of my gums like bloody confetti. With absolutely no palliative concessions to subtlety, Out For Blood gleefully vomits forth a bracing suburban nihilism with the sanguineous fatality of a sledgehammer to an infants skull. This debasing album has all the inherent decorum of choking in a virulent pool of slaughterhouse offal; a morass of rancorous guitars and behemoth bass, spiked unceremoniously with verminous, atonal screechings, providing a suitably ignominious soundtrack for those inebriate nights at home consuming Dennis Neilson’s wholesome pot of steaming pancreas. 4/5